Dancing slowly in an empty room
by Inuyasharocks01862
Summary: Whent Astrid's life shatters before her, she's sure that she'll always be alone. what she doesn't expect is the ghost of a green eyed, dark haird man standing in her library with a smirk


**PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS: this story may contain heavy and potently dangerous triggers, depression, suicidal thoughts, blackouts involving serious harm, off-screen character deaths, suicide, and major character death are all included. If you** **choose** **to read the story,** **stop reading if it bothers you.** **Do not feel obligated to read until the end if you can't take it.** **If you want details,(such as the ending of the story, or other various aspects of the story) don't hesitate to pm me.**

 **Author Note:** _I'm not suicidal, but this was extremely difficult to and emotionally draining to write, might not sleep tonight._

 **Disclaimer** : I don't own the characters of how to train your dragon or the song the lonely by Christina Perry

 _Astrid Hofferson was just that girl. She was the one with friends and a good life as well as parents who treasured her. She was smart, going somewhere. Astrid had a future. She was so happy she would smile and the sun would shine just a little bit brighter, barely noticeable to those who thought it was a trick. But there was something about the girl with golden blond hair, and bright blue eyes. She was quite without being shy;loud without being obtrusive. She could dance it up with the next girl, study like she didn't have a social life and would stay up until three in the moring only to wake up four hours later for class._

 _Astrid did everything, tried everything._ You only live once darling, _her mother would say. Why not?_

 _Never did she have an argument that was stronger then that question. Why do something? Well why not? Of course there were fears and of course responsibility, but Astrid relized from a young age that you couldn't escape those things. You had to deal with it head on and with your chin up. Astrid Hofferson was a girl that others admired, that parents wished was their own, that students wondered how she managed to do it all._

 _She was just..that girl_

 _And then it happened._

 _Suddenly, everything was different. Everything was gone._

 _Astrid Hofferson had nothing more then loneliness._

Two am, where do I begin  
Crying off my face again  
The silent sound of loneliness  
Wants to follow me to bed

Everyone thinks you're crazy for keeping the house. They just don't understand

You sit at the kitchen table, staring at a photograph. It's early, probably a few hours past midnight. It's dark outside but the blinds cover any moonlight that might peek through. Nothing bothers you, other than the silence. The television is gently on in the background, the noise filtering out your fears of what you can't escape.

The photograph is tear-stained now, horribly mangled ever since that day. The second you received that phone call between your two classes…your life changed. You hadn't even checked the caller ID, figuring it had to be your mother. She probably wanted you to pick something up on the way. Maybe milk. Maybe bread.

It wasn't your mother. It was a cop.

The words are a mess now. A lot of people explain how every word is like a sharp stab to the heart, an unbearable, heartbreaking experience that never ends. Each word digs the knife deeper, twists the blade an inch more. In this case, you barely understand anything. It flies over your head, as if your brain is fogged with denial. The words _crash_ and _tires_ and _dead_ and _we did everything_ and _sorry_ , they are the few words that penetrate through the horror, the few words that made you stop and freeze right there in the hall.

Now, no one will ask you for milk or bread again.

The house is big, but it's the only thing that you have left. Your parents had been together almost their entire life there; you were born here, like your brother. It was where you grew up. It was where their memory lived on. You can't let go of that, not yet.

" _I think…you should consider selling the place." Snotlout's words are quiet, gentle. He's looking at you like you were a kicked puppy, lost and forlorn and huddling in a corner. Quite possibly you were doing that, only the couch is your little shelter of protection. "It's only making things harder for you staying here. You need to be able to remember them on your own without the reminders."_

 _You bite your lower lip, refusing to look at him. You haven't spoken much since it happened, not even to your best friend Snotlout, a psychology major. He's finishing that year, already having worked at several facilities. If there is anyone you should listen to, it should be him._

 _But you can't. You just can't._

Another tear falls from your cheeks to the photograph. It slides down the matte finish, rolling to the wood table and settling, a bubble yet to be broken. You don't want to touch it.

" _If you need me," Snotlout says, reaching out to you. You flinch when he touches your shoulder. "I'm here, okay? You have my number. Are you sure you don't want me to stay here with you?"_

 _You remain stoic though, shaking your head, eyes still glued to the carpeted flooring. No, you don't want anyone in the house with you. This is your life now. You are alone._

There are three faces in the picture, one of them yours. How strange that your tear fell and landed on your foreign, smiling face.

Like you're out of the picture when really, it's them who aren't coming back.

 _I'm a ghost of a girl that I want to be most._

 _I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well._

It's another day. A bad day, but that seemed to be the norm now.

You go to school still. You don't do much but hand in papers, barely passing but taking it for what it is. What does it matter how well you do, as long as you get your diploma? It isn't like your parents could scold you for doing poorly, or could be proud of you when you ace your last midterm.

What does anything matter anymore?

You throw your books on the couch, bag following seconds behind when you finally return. The bus was late again today, and it's raining so you're soaked to the bone. The car keys hang to the side, ominously by the door as if waiting to be used.

But you won't. You can't.

You head to the kitchen for dinner, probably another meal of cereal with a side of television. Maybe if you feel up to it, you'll listen to one of Snotlout's many voicemails.

You haven't even gotten to the cupboard when a creak jolts you into place. You whip your head around, hoping, wondering. It sounds like the swinging of a door – the _library_ door. It's a room that no one ever really went in, as it had once upon a time belonged to your uncle. He had passed away five years ago and you can only be thankful that he didn't have to watch his sister, and son-in-law get buried. Sometimes the universe can give small mercies, even if you're the one all alone.

But that's right, you are _alone_. It's your overactive imagination, because no one's there. No one can be there. They are all dead. Gone.

You walk over anyways, drawn, terrified. It's like a moth heading towards a flame, knowing that there's nothing but pain and death, but unable to stop itself, unable to fight the pull that drags it closer.

The library door is open. It had been shut since your uncle died.

You swallow, feeling tears pour in your eyes for inexplicable reasons. Maybe the world is finally going to balance, and someone's trying to rob you. Surely they will kill you for finding them. Maybe it'll be quick. Maybe you'll finally fill the void. Your thoughts make no sense. There's nothing logical about them but they flood your mind like videos, playing over and over different implausible situations.

When you peek your head inside, no one's there. You swing it wider, step inside and feel both relief and disappointment surge through your body. Why weren't you in the car with them too? Why did this happen to you? Why?

 _Why not_?

It's a bitter thought, hearing your mother's words echoing in your mind. This isn't the time, not the place, not the moment. You're so close to the edge that you can feel the wind, practically see the drop. You're balancing on a needle, half-prepared to fall backwards onto safe ground or forwards into oblivion.

"Why are you crying?"

You don't even realize that you are. Your hand slowly touches your cheek, startling at the hot liquid before everything finally catches up with you. You whirl around, a scream half up your throat and ready to let loose. It dries up the moment you see him though, with his green eyes and brown-black hair that is as dark as the night. He smirks at you, clearly amused.

You can see right through him.

"Who– What–" There are no words that can make up for what you're experiencing at that moment. There's nothing you can say that will make this situation better.

The ghost in front of you just smirks wider, shrugging and looking at you like you're some sort of prize. "Not all of the living can see us," he explains softly. "You didn't for years."

"I haven't–" You don't know how to finish that sentence. You're standing in a room you haven't been in forever, looking at someone that obviously isn't really here. He can't be, can he? A ghost – that's what the man before you has to be – is in your library. How didn't you know?

The strangest part in all of this is that you don't feel like running. Sure, there's a ghost in front of you, looking at you with something like amusement and awe. Why aren't you running so fast the ground shreds beneath your feet? Why aren't you screaming, calling the cops, the priest, _something_? The first answer that comes to your mind is a bitter one; an option that you know will taste sour if you ever manage to say it out loud.

You aren't alone right now. Not with this…ghost. Even if he is a figment of your imagination, there's someone to talk to, someone to…to _be_ with, someone who isn't living and breathing, who can't pass judgement on you.

"I haven't been in here for a long time," you whisper, the words catching on your throat somehow, making them hard to speak.

The man nods, and it's the first time you notice he has two ears on the top of his head, twitching around like they're picking up sounds. "I know. You've been pretty elusive Astrid."

"You know my name." Why are you still here? Why isn't this terrifying you like it should be? You want to react normally, but the fact that this is another… _someone_ to talk to, to communicate with that can't do anything to you… Snotlout is great; he's a friend. But he's pushy without knowing it, too close and you can't handle that. But this ghost? This man with dark hair and green eyes is see-through and not _real_ ; it's a friendship you can possibly deal with right now.

"I know your name," the man replies, rolling his eyes. "I've only been here longer than since you were born."

You blink, turning around really fast so that you can't see the ghost. The library bookshelf is too full, overflowing and dusty with misuse. "You've– What?"

"You got one of those little battery-powered cars when you were eight," the ghost murmurs. "You were pleased but this one was a Barbie vehicle and you had wanted the Volkswagen Beetle one, with the red paint. You told your mother the next day."

You frown. You barely remember that yourself. "No. How–?"

"Yes," the man corrects. Suddenly he appears before you, like he had popped out of nowhere. His eyes are green, darker green flecks dancing inside. He raises a brow at you. "You cried a lot when you were fourteen because you had decided to stop dancing and you gained thirty pounds in a month. It was the first time you had ever started to notice your figure."

This is too weird. The whole situation is starting to present itself, like a big flashing neon sign that tells you this is too strange, too impossible. Now you want to run, talking be damned.

"You were a twig though, I remember watching you perform for your uncle in this room while he was busy reading some book." The ghost shrugs, turning around and heading towards a small window at the other side of the room. "Are you going to freak out now? I'm surprised you lasted this long."

"I don't…understand." Your voice sounds mangled, wrecked. "Why hadn't I noticed you? Didn't you make a noise or something?"

"The living don't see us until they understand," the man says simply, not looking at you but rather outside the small window. "You understand death now and the fine print to life. You're barely living yourself, so you can see me now, hear me."

You can only take that in stride, unable to come up with a counterargument. "This was my uncle's favourite room."

The man turns then, smirking once more. "I lost count the number of times he cursed at me. I guess he realized I was friendly though, because he stopped trying to get rid of me and instead bound me to this room."

"You can't leave here?"

"No. Not yet." There's a small pause, like the ghost is considering something. "I miss him though."

You feel your throat close up, the thought of losing not only him but _everyone_ too much. It's just another reminder, another thing that jumps in front of you and startles you into remembering the truth. "What's your name?" you ask, desperate to distract yourself.

The man comes closer, taking steps but hovering over the ground, floating. It doesn't terrify you nearly as much as it should. "Hiccup," he says, holding out his hand as a gesture.

You stare at it, seeing the floor through the pale illusion. You wonder what will happen if you actually take it. Will you pass through? Will it feel funny, like pushing through air or energy?

"I'm not going to bite," Hiccup murmurs, moving his hand closer to you. "Come on already."

You place your hand in his. To your relief and horror, it sort of feels like the first feeling of home and you haven't felt like that in a long while.

 _Dancing slowly in an empty room,_

 _Can the lonely take the place of you?_

 _I sing myself a quiet lullaby, let you go and let the lonely in to take my heart again._

It's been days since you've last looked at the calendar. Days fly by almost, a mixture between school and homework assignments and _him_. You can't focus, can't understand how this has happened to you. You've lost your family, everyone you ever loved, and now have gained this… _this friend_. You're not quite sure how to explain it – to yourself or anyone else – so you don't. Some things are better left alone.

When he touched your hand, you felt something amazing. It was like every burden, every hardship left you. You were free to float and just…be. You haven't simply _been_ in a long time. Not since the accident.

"Astrid, wait up!"

You don't want to stop moving, because even though there's a bus that will come in another five minutes, you'd rather be home as soon as possible. But his voice makes you pause, turn around to see your friend Snotlout run up to you. You put on a smile, try to fake it for him. It doesn't feel real and you know, deep down inside, that he knows it's not either. "What's going on? Are you okay?" The truth is you don't care. You just want to go home.

"Are you still going to come out next week?" Snotlout asks, looking hopeful and genuine. He's missed you, you can tell. You can also read between the lines, because Snotlout wears his heart on his sleeve and maybe once before you felt the same way. But now, you don't feel much of anything that isn't sadness or loneliness. It wouldn't be fair to drag him down with you.

But another problem is that you forgot; you have no idea what he's talking about. You tilt your head and try your best to show honest confusion, that you forgot by sheer chance. It's not because you don't care for anything outside of your own pity, your own self-loathing. The less he knows, the better it is. "I'm sorry, what thing?"

"The movie marathon the faculty is putting on at the Hollow. Remember, we were all going to have a few drinks, grab some snacks and then head over with a blanket and popcorn? It's outside and the weather will be amazing. There will be stars–"

He keeps talking, because he rambles when he's nervous. For someone studying psychology, you think meanly that he should be able to fix it. You hate yourself for how the thought comes to your mind, hate that you've turned into something so terrible. You were once someone special, someone to look up to.

And then it happened.

"…So, are you going to come?" Snotlout looks so worried that saying no is going to be hard. You know you're not going to go, especially since you won't touch alcohol with a ten-foot pole since your family's accident. Death. Whatever.

You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you think, but you can tell he sees it before you even say a word. His face shuts down a bit, sad and forlorn like he's lost something important. You can't understand why he looks that way, since you're not important. Not now. But his face, coupled with the thoughts you had earlier about him make you sigh, make you do something you wouldn't normally do: lie. "Sure, I'll go." You'll get sick or something, have a panic attack so that he'll understand why you can't make it next week. "I'll call and ask about driving arrangements, okay?"

"That sounds…great." Snotlout smiles at you. It's blinding and beautiful, and you shouldn't even be in the presence of it. "I'll see you around Astrid."

"Bye Snotlout."

You head towards the bus stop and don't look back. When you get home, you're going to do nothing but have a long hot shower that will burn your skin, make you temporarily forget everything that's weighing you down. You'll avoid Snotlout's call tonight too, because you know he's never going to stop trying to care.

Home is a welcome relief but you can't even spend five minutes in the living room before having to escape. Today is worse than usual; it was before Snotlout talked to you and especially now after. You can't seem to keep a handle on it. You want to, you so desperately want to. Breaking down isn't going to solve anything and it's certainly not going to bring them back.

You go to leave the living room, but your eyes land on a picture frame and you freeze. Your blood runs cold and you can't stop the pants that leave your lips. Of course you've seen them a thousand times, every day before the accident and every day after. The problem is that right now you can't handle it. You can't restrain the anger that boils through you, the absolute hatred that snakes around you like a suffocating vice.

You hate the fact that you're alive and still stuck here. You hate them because they left you. They left you and now you're so terribly, horribly alone.

The scream that leaves your lips sounds foreign. It sounds like a dying animal, like it's coming from far, far away. Pain screams in your hand, nerve endings alight with pinpricks, and you realize that something's different, something happened.

You're no longer standing a few feet away from the dresser staring at the photograph.

You're on your knees, head pressed against the wooden stand with shattered glass of the picture frame around you. There's blood on your hands, gashes criss-crossing and oozing crimson.

"Astrid?"

You hear the shout, hear it echoing through the house. It's hard to fathom over the sounds of your sobs, of your chest wheezing with each painful breath.

"Astrid! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

It's Hiccup, and he's calling for you. Hiccup is calling for you, he wants your attention.

He needs you. He doesn't want to be alone anymore.

It's hard to get the words out because your tongue feels unnaturally heavy. Somehow you manage to yell back at him, to tell him you're coming and to hold on. You shakily stand up, trying not to touch anything as you cradle both your hands against your chest. There's blood on your white shirt, but there's not much you can do about that. It's on your jeans too, making the stain look almost rustic, and it makes you feel sick.

The cold water on your hands is a shock. It makes you hiss and clench your jaw so hard you think you're going to pass out. You have to clean your wounds though, get gauze and tap and pads and somehow fix what you've done.

How…how did you even do it?

It's a terrifying thought that you suddenly can't remember. It's pure blackness, a skip in your mind that takes you from point A to point Z with absolutely nothing in between.

You can't tell how long it takes to wrap both of your hands, but your right hand takes the longest. It's hard enough that your non-dominant hand is trying to move in ways it's not particularly used to, but it's made even worse with the pain and the bandaging.

"What's taking you so long? Astrid, come on, please?" Hiccup sounds worried. You can even imagine that for a split second, he sounds scared.

Why, you can't even fathom.

You knew things were bad before, but this? This brings it to a whole new level. You're sick. Something is wrong with you and blacking out was proof. You're a bad person. You don't deserve to be alive.

Maybe, you don't deserve to die and that's why you're stuck in this hell.

"Astrid, what the heck–" He stops the moment his green eyes land on you, and you can see the gears turning in his head. His eyes lower to your hands, to your face that's probably all puffy from tears. Surely he heard all of it, but it's not like he could see from his spot at the doorway to the library. You see the sorrow in his eyes, the same fear that circling around in your mind.

You can't help it. You start crying all over again, your hands pressed against your chest as if to protect yourself.

"Come here."

Without hesitation you step into the library, closing that distance. Warm arms wrap around you, arms that feel so very real at this moment it's making your mind a little hazy. You don't know what's wrong with you, but something is. Something is. Something is.

"Shh, Astrid," Hiccup whispers in your ear.

You sob harder, you can't help it. Breathing hurts, it hurts so fucking much.

Somehow he drags you over to the couch and makes you lie down. You're pressed against the back of it, your hands in his as he lies down to face you. It's a tight fit, but maybe it's not because he's only a ghost. Right now he feels real, and the rest of the world is a frightening nightmare. His lips press against the gauze and somehow it makes you feel the slightest bit better, the slightest bit worse. You cry harder as your heart feels a bit lighter.

"Shh," he whispers again, arm curling around you, bringing you in.

He's the only thing you've got and you couldn't be more grateful.

 _Too afraid to go outside,_

 _For the pain of one more lifeless night._

 _But the loneliness will stay with me and hold me 'til I fall asleep._

"What are you doing?" you shriek, feeling your body tingle all over as his hands dance across your skin. He's tickling you, and the sensation is strange. He's a ghost and the way he touches you is different from normal human contact. Or so you think. You can't exactly remember the last time someone touched you who wasn't dead. You can't remember a time when someone wanted to.

"You have a face," Hiccup snaps, pointing a clawed finger in your direction. "It's that face I hate and it's a piss off so stop it right now."

"I don't have a face!" you yell back. You have a mask and a shield that you wear over your body, something that protects you from the daily horrors of life. It stops Snotlout from asking too many questions, although it doesn't stop him from calling you every single night.

Somehow, Hiccup can tell what's going through your mind, and you hate him as much as you start to love it about him.

Standing up abruptly, you shiver at the sensation of his one hand gently passing through you, something that only happens when he stops concentrating. He didn't tell you all of the details, his smirk secretive and hiding something that you can't fully understand yet. Still, there's a chill that wasn't there before, and you put on a smile. "I have to shower and make food, okay? I'm starving and I've been here all day."

Hiccup snorts, rolls his eyes at you because he thinks you're so damn dramatic. "You came home two hours ago. Honestly, Astrid."

"I can't just stay in this room all of the time," you say. It's true. The fact that you're spending more and more time in there is a testament to how far away you've strayed from the real word. "And I'm a living, breathing person. I need food to live and I need a shower to keep clean."

"Women are so trivial," Hiccup groans, flopping down on your uncle's chair. The action doesn't bother you. The fact that he seems to just hover above the warn upholstery doesn't either. "Why don't you eat dinner in here?"

"Did you not hear me?" It's your turn to roll your eyes, even though a part of you feels warm. He's just as lonely as you are, trapped in a library that hadn't seen use for years until you took your first step in. How had he survived for so long? How had he managed to not completely lose it? Were ghosts even capable of such? "I'll be back after dinner, so stop whining."

Like a night fury his ears droop, and his big green eyes have captured your heart. "Fine," he murmurs, sounding far too sad to be true.

He's playing it up, you can tell, but it doesn't stop your heart from beating stupidly, from the rise of heat you feel in your chest. "Will you be good if I eat in here?"

Hiccup's smirk is more than enough of an answer.

You sigh, but it's fonder than you'd like to admit. Having a shower isn't exactly an imposition, but you rush through it anyways. Wet hair drips down your back, but you can't be bothered to dry it, instead deciding to grab your cereal of the day and have some dinner.

All in all, it's only taken about thirty or so minutes to return to the library. Hiccup is still sitting on the couch, looking woefully at the ceiling like you had been gone for days. He doesn't even acknowledge you as you enter. It's fine though, you know him. It's been a month now since you first met him. Since that time, things have started to flow into the library, things that shouldn't be there. Extra blankets and pillows to sleep with, your brushes and a pair of clothes just in case; they all sit in random corners. Sometimes you don't even look around the other areas of the house. It was mainly the kitchen, your bedroom, the bathroom and the library. You didn't need anything else.

You didn't need the reminders.

Sitting down on the couch, you carefully avoid sitting on top of him, even though he assures you nothing would happen. The first spoonful of cereal is almost gross – it's pretty much all you eat because you can't be bothered with something that requires time and effort. Besides, the more time you spend out of the library, the more alone you are.

"What's it today?" Hiccup asks, wrinkling his nose. He's probably displeased with himself for forgetting to ignore you. It happens more often than not, and you find it endearing. "Cheerios?"

"Fruit Loops, but close." You take another mouthful, trying to finish it as soon as possible. It's basic sustenance, that's all. A small part of your brain tells you that it's not enough, and you pointedly avoid thinking further about it. You agree – maybe that's the worst part – because the curves you used to have are disappearing. You've lost six pounds, and that's probably extremely unhealthy.

The other part of your brain acknowledges that nothing is likely to change.

Hiccup hums, a soft melody that reminds you of music you'd waltz to. You can see yourself, in a long dress that has a train dragging across the floor. You meet him – whoever he is – and your hands touch, bodies coming together. He leads and you follow; you don't take control. You let the music and his body guide you, forgetting every worry that crossed your mind in the past twenty-four hours.

If only.

The shrill sound of the phone startles you from your thoughts, and you laugh at Hiccup's pout when you shush him and pick up your cell. The caller display shows that it's Snotlout – of course it's him – and you try not to groan. He won't stop calling and it bothers you on a level you can't properly fathom.

"Snotface again?"

"It's Snotlout" you automatically correct. This is hardly the first time he's said the name wrong and you sincerely doubt it'll be the last. "I should answer this."

"He's your friend," Hiccup retorts, although he doesn't sound happy about it.

You stand up, shaking your head at him when he gives you this incredulous look. It's like he can't believe you're actually going to leave the room for a conversation. It's not the first time this has come up either, but you can't do it. You don't feel comfortable talking to real, living people when you have a ghost right beside you. It messes with your head because you're supposed to be normal, and you're supposed to be healing. You're not, but that's beside the point. Somehow, sitting beside a ghost while you chat with your friend seems too off-balance for you to contemplate.

The kitchen is where you go. It's clean, with neatly stacked dishes on a towel on the far counter. You sit at the table, thumbing through the contacts until you land on Snotlout's name. His call had already gone through and ended, but calling him back right away will surely get you an immediate response.

Snotlout answers on the first ring. "Astrid," he breathes, sounding relieved. "How are you?" His words are rushed, like he can't get them out fast enough or like he's afraid you're going to hang up on him.

"I'm alright," you respond. It's what's acceptable and you can handle that right now. "Are you running? What's going on?"

"What's going on?" Snotlout actually sounds a bit hurt by that, but he tries to correct himself when he continues, his voice soothing across the line. "We're supposed to be meeting in the next half-hour, remember? Movie night at the Hollow?"

You hadn't remembered, but then again you never actually planned on going. "Oh, I'm sorry I forgot. At least you guys will have a good time."

Snotlout is quiet for a moment, which doesn't worry you at all. It does worry you, however, when he starts to speak so fast you almost can't catch the way his voice breaks a little, how it sounds like he's so worried he's about to fall apart. "That's not the point! Astrid, I can see what you're doing and I won't let you push me away. I care about you, okay? I want to make sure you're fine. I'm coming over now–"

"No!" You scream it, unable to control yourself. No one has stepped foot in your house since the first day after they were gone, when Snotlout sat on the couch with you after mourners left you alone. No one should be here. No one. Not even to care for you because you don't need it.

You have Hiccup and unlike the rest, he'll never leave you.

"What do you mean no?" Snotlout asks. He's shouting, more out of frustration than anger. He's scared. He's petrified. You don't blame him because you are too. "Astrid, I'm already heading on over. Please calm down, okay? We don't even have to talk. We'll put on a movie and just sit there. We don't even have to be near each other, _hell_ –"

"Please don't," you beg. "I can't have anyone over. Not yet. Don't you get that? I'm not okay and you coming over is going to make it worse!"

"Make it worse than it already is?" This time, Snotlout does yell. He practically screams. "You're not eating. You're so pale it's like you're a ghost. You're hardly in class and I've seen your marks Astrid. You're failing almost everything you get back. I keep trying to help you! I thought stepping back was better because you seemed to panic that I was too close but I was wrong. You can't do this. You can't handle this on your own and I'm coming over. Astrid, I'm always – _always_ – going to be there for you."

There are moments in one's life that changes things forever. You don't realize it, not yet, but this is the turning point. You can start to build back your life or you can waste it away until you're no better than dead. You don't make this decision now, not yet anyways, but hindsight is always clearer.

You still have the phone clutched in your hand. You're squeezing it so hard that it hurts the muscles. "Snotlout, I don't want you here."

"Don't do this!" Snotlout screams, desperate. "Astrid, please, just let me be there for you!"

"I don't fucking want you _near me_!" This time it's your turn. You lose it, feel all of the emotions that have been so tangled up inside start to explode. It's uncontrollable and words are falling from your lips faster than you can think them, faster than you can stop them. "I am not going to get over this! I am _never_ going to get over this! I lost my mom and my dad both at once. I lost my parents and I have nothing left. Do you hear me? I have _nothing_ to live for! You telling me that I'm going to get better and that I'm going to get through this is the biggest lie I've ever heard! And once you've figured it out – the fact that I'm never going to be the girl I once was, the girl you once loved – that I'm never going to get better you're going to vanish like the rest!"

"That's crazy and you know it!" Snotlout sounds furious now. "This is all my fault. I should've never let it get this bad."

"Get this _bad_?" You're practically spitting fire. "Fuck you, Snotlout. Fuck you so very much. I never want to see you again! Do you understand me? I am this bad because I've lost _my fucking life_!"

Hanging up is supposed to make you feel better but it doesn't. Not by a long shot. You can hear Hiccup calling you again from the library door but at this moment you can't look at him. You can't stand the thought of how bad you really have gotten. Snotlout was right – of course he was – but it doesn't mean anything different to you.

You feel angry. You feel depressed. You feel so useless and so tired that you can't comprehend the swirl of emotions flying through you. Your palms itch to grab something, to hit something and before you know it you're in the bathroom, slamming the door.

Hiccup's muffled yells get to you and somehow it makes you angrier. That's never happened before, not with him, but this time is different. This time you're teetering on the edge and so close to falling. Everything is wrong. Everything is so bad. Black dots line your vision and it makes you _angrier_ because you can't control this, no matter how hard you try. You can't feel better about yourself, or about others, or about your life, and it's tearing you apart.

You're sick. You're broken. You're not going anywhere now and it's obvious. The realization that your life has peaked at this point makes you scream. It's blood-curdling. Your throat burns, your lungs hurt and when you can't let out anymore you take another deep breath to do it again. You scream and you scream and you scream, scream, _scream_. It's not making you better but you can't stop. It's like a broken record, scratching over and over that same heartbreaking spot.

It doesn't go through your mind that you're grabbing things – heavy things that you found from somewhere. It's just a blur, a mess of emotions and screams and sobbing so hard you can't breathe. Your throat burns, making all that much more painful, but you can't stop. You can't stop.

The sound of shattering glass breaks through everything.

You stop, frozen. The only thing that moves is your chest as you pant, trying to catch your breath. The mirror in front of you is shattered for the most part, only a few chucks clinging to its backing. It's broken.

It's shattered.

You stare at it for the longest time. It could've been seconds or minutes or hours or _days_ and you wouldn't have known the difference. All you can see is fragments of yourself where the mirror didn't fall. Thick shards cover the bathroom counter but you pay no mind. All you see is a girl that's just as destroyed as the mirror she sees herself in. You see the haggard lines that break your face, which cut you into tiny meaningless pieces. You're broken.

You're shattered.

Closing your eyes, you clutch at the sink and try to breathe.

You find that no matter how hard you try, you just can't.

 _I'm a ghost of a girl that I want to be most._

 _I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well._

Hiccup is the one that calms you down. He's the one that holds you so impossibly tight, who tells you that it's going to be okay. He kisses your temple and runs his hands through your hair.

Snotlout never comes over.

A small part of you thought he truly would, but it doesn't matter. You've learned something about yourself today and now you have to take it in and deal with it.

The last time you hear from Snotlout is through the answer machine, his wrecked voice leaving a message that almost makes you want to call him.

Almost.

" _I'm so sorry Astrid. I- I'm so, so sorry. Forgive me."_

 _Dancing slowly in an empty room._

 _Can the lonely take the place of you?_

 _I sing myself a quiet lullaby, let you go and let the lonely in to take my heart again._

You feel better now. To be honest, you feel better than you have for the past month and a bit. For the first time, you can actually breathe without the feeling of utter, crushing despair. You're curled up on the couch – the same place you've been for the past two days – and for some reason, on this Tuesday you decide that it's time.

"I'm going to do it," you say, trying to convince yourself more than the ghost beside you. "I…I think I can do this."

Hiccup is there; his arms snaking around you and pressing you flush against his body. The heat it creates makes you sigh and for a moment you want to stay on the couch with him. "I know you can," he replies gently, his lips brushing against your ear. You tilt your head from its position on the cushion, looking up at him as his dark hair curtains around you like a waterfall.

"I wish you could come with me," you say, and a small part of you wishes for something different. Then again, if your uncle had never cursed Hiccup to the library in the first place, their meeting would never have happened. They wouldn't have this.

He smirks again, the secret one that ties your stomach all up in knots. You know what it means and it makes you smile so big your cheeks hurt. Hiccup has been there for you all along and this thing between you – regardless of how it started or how it's going to end – is hauntingly beautiful.

 _Broken pieces of a barely breathing story._

 _Where there once was life,_

 _Now there's only me and the lonely._

It takes three days, but you knew all along that it had to be done. Your parents' stuff has to be put away into boxes – the things you want to keep and the things that could go to charity.

Finally you've nearly reached the end. It's the best – and the hardest – for last and you stare at the big garment bag with slight fear. A part of you doesn't want to touch it, fearing that you would somehow taint something so beautiful. Still, you're drawn like a moth to a flame and your hand takes the zipper, slowly lowering it.

The white lace is the first thing you see, following by the decorative silk. It's perfectly white, just like the day it was bought though you wouldn't truly know that. Your mother had only been two months pregnant when they got married, so you wouldn't have been around to help choose the wedding dress.

The preview the slit of the garment bag gives you isn't enough and soon you're bringing it over to the mattress, laying it out. Gently you move around it, slowly taking out bits and pieces to ensure that absolutely nothing is damaged. This was precious to your mother and now precious to you.

It's only the way your fingertips tingle at the touch of silk that has you grabbing it fully, turning it around to see the zipper. Carefully you undo it, hesitating for only a moment before shedding your own clothes. You don't think about the implications as you put on your mother's wedding dress. All you can feel is the silk against your skin, the lace tingling against your shoulders. It fits perfectly and you think that all of this was meant to be.

Everything.

A tear rolls down your cheek, but you brush it away with determination. Instead you focus on the gown, how the train beautifully drags behind you as you walk towards the full-length mirror. It's perfect. Everything single detail is flawless and it's so snug on you that your throat involuntarily closes. Your hands skirt over the stomach, letting the fabric fall more into place. Your hair is a mess but it doesn't matter – it's been like that for days. That's what only being on the couch will do for you.

Smiling to yourself, you pick up the front of the white wedding dress and glide across the floor. It's not too far away, and you should've known that he'd be waiting. He's leaning against the doorjamb with a smirk on his face, green eyes intense.

"Gorgeous," he whispers, waiting until you step through the invisible barrier before he can touch you. Instead of the hug you expect, he holds out his hand and bows slightly.

"What?" you ask, raising an inquisitive brow.

The dark-haired ghost doesn't answer. Instead he pulls you impossible close to him, holding you properly before starting to hum. It's the same tune that it always is – that melody for a waltz that generally lulls you to sleep. Right now, Hiccup is slowly starting to move. He guides you around the library, careful of your dress as he continues to hum the beautiful song that captures you both in this moment.

"This was my mother's," you say quietly, giving him a small smile before leaning your head down on his shoulder. It stops you from properly moving to the melody but Hiccup merely pulls you in tighter to him, rocking back and forth on the spot. "She always told me that marrying my dad was one of the best days of her life."

"What were the other?" Inuyasha continues to hum the moment the question leaves his mouth, making this moment – this haunting melody – completely theirs.

"The day I were born," you respond lightly, trying not to get choked up. You hesitate for only a moment before letting out a shaky breath. "I miss them Hiccup. I miss them so much, every single day, and it still hurts."

Hiccup's hand winds through your blond hair, holding you like he will never let you go. "You will never forget them and one day, far into the future, it won't hurt so much."

You believe him.

His nose nudges along your neck, lips brushing against your jaw line as he slowly climbs higher. You can feel your breaths get lighter, your lungs already feeling like they don't have enough air. You've been waiting for this, ever since your last meltdown you've wanted this moment. You wanted it before then, a small part of you knew, but it would've never been possible.

"Astrid," Hiccup sighs, running a hand up your neck to hold you. "Always."

You know what it means and it makes you shiver, a full body shudder that makes his green eyes turn dark. He kisses you then, a soft brush of lips before something far deeper, far more connected. You cling to him like it's the only chance you have to live any sort of life.

You pull back just enough, seeing the look in his eyes and understand that this is it. This is the moment. "Now?" You ask to be sure. You ask because you need to know without doubt.

"Now." He smiles – and it's all teeth, and blinding and so amazingly _beautiful_ – and the hand that still holding yours squeezes lightly, reassuringly.

You turn, looking at the door to the library. Hiccup is standing right beside you, humming once more to calm your nerves. This is the moment that will set Hiccup free.

Five steps are all it takes before you reach the wall. The door is between you, not big enough to fit you both at the same time though it hardly matters. You look at him and smile. He nods his head, holds your hand tighter. He lets you know that he's always going to be the one.

Without looking away from green orbs, you take a step forward through the wall. You take another, and another.

And now, you're both free.

 _Dancing slowly in an empty room._

 _Can the lonely take the place of you?_

 _I sing myself a quiet lullaby, let you go and let the lonely in take my heart again._

 _ **Note One:**_ _No, Astrid did not suddenly die at the end. It happened before then. Notice what habits are mentioned before and how said habits are lacking after. I tried not to make it too noticeable, but it isn't exactly subtle either._

 _ **Note Two:**_ _I'm fine. Really._

 _ **Note Three:**_ _Feedback, as always, is appreciated. If you didn't listen to my warnings and are now going to yell at me about writing this, I will virtually strangle you._


End file.
